


Not a Hugger

by weeklypants



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, First Time, Fluff, Fluffy, Frottage, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Rimming, Sequel, Snogging, Snuggling, Spooning, Sweet, johnlock spoons, sherlock cuddles, sherlock's not a hugger, shirtless sherlock, sleepytime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeklypants/pseuds/weeklypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why does Sherlock keep sleeping in John's bed? John's exploration of this new phenomenon. Fluffy and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _A sort-of-sequel to Sherlock Holmes: Refrigerator Princess._  
>  It can be found here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/762976
> 
> Anywho, the characters aren't mine, but the spelling mistakes are! Unbeta'd and not tested on animals.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The explicit content starts in Chapter 3, so if you're looking for a little PWP, just skip ahead! :3

Neither of them were sure exactly how it happened, but ever since the night sherlock jumped off the refrigerator and landed on John, the night John discovered (after hitting his head on the kitchen floor) that Sherlock made a fantastic blanket, they had been sleeping together in John’s bed every night.  
  
John had been meaning to bring it up, but by the time Sherlock was climbing into John’s bed as if it were nothing, the phrase “business as usual” oozing from every pore, John was too tired and too comfortable to be bothered. If his bizarre flatmate wanted to sleep next to him, bugger it, he probably had a good reason. A reason that John would pretend he didn’t care enough about to find out.  
  
Tonight was no different. As John lay awake in bed, waiting for Sherlock to finish his “dinner” (who eats dinner at 12 AM by choice, anyway?) he began to speculate: _Perhaps_ , he thought, _perhaps my bed is more comfortable._

 

That was unlikely. Sherlock was never conservative with his money when his personal comfort was on the line. 

 

_It could be an experiment._ He grimaced. Sherlock may be watching him sleep, recording his results in a little notebook hidden somewhere in the flat. 

 

 _Or maybe he likes the company..._ John quickly dismissed this thought in favor of his “experiment” theory.  
  
Footsteps on the stairs snapped John’s attention back to the present. He shifted a little awkwardly as Sherlock walked into the room, hung his dressing gown on the hook next to John’s, and climbed into bed. He turned his back to John and clicked off his bedside lamp.  
  
“Night, John.” He said over his shoulder.  
  
“Goodnight, Sherlock” John said in his most normal tone of voice.  
  
And then it was quiet.  
  
John caught himself trying to breath quieter, and abruptly felt ashamed. Why should he care how loud he breathes? 

 

John glanced over at sherlock. He was wearing striped pajama pants and no shirt. “It’s summer, John,” Sherlock had said, “It's too hot to wear a shirt to bed.” John wore one anyway.   
  
He closed his eyes and slept, listening to his flatmate’s remarkably quiet breathing, a little envious.  
  
John woke. Something warm and soft was pressed against him. He shifted slightly. It shifted slightly, pushing closer next to him. John’s eyes snapped open when it’s familiar smell hit him. _Sherlock._  
  
“Sherlock,” John whispered.  
  
“What is it, John?” Came the very non-groggy response.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“Wrong. I woke up in this position exactly 48 minutes ago. The correct question is ‘what are YOU doing?’”  
  
John drew back slightly. Suddenly his and Sherlock’s unusual arrangement of limbs was not the problem.  
  
“Sherlock?”  
  
“Yes, John?”  


“Have you been laying here, awake, letting me spoon you for 48 minutes?”  
  
“Well, 49 now.”  
  
“WHY?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged against him and took a minute to consider John’s question.  
  
“I like it.”  
  
“What?”  


Again, he had to think about it.  


“It’s... comfortable. I don’t know. I’ve never tried anything like it before. This kind of proximity.”  
  
John stared down at him. “What?”  
  
“I’m not a ‘hugger’, John.”  
  
“So you’ve never... cuddled.... before?”  
  
“ Not willingly. At least not before the--" Sherlock looked away "refrigerator incident. ”  
  
“ When you saw a cockroach that looked like Mycroft and I thought you were a blanket?”  
  
“Yes, that one. “  


Sherlock was beginning to sound irritated, but John had to ask:   
  
“Sherlock, why have you been coming into my bed every night?”  
  
Sherlock didn’t answer.  
  
“Have you been hoping I might-- in my sleep--  think you were a blanket again?”  
  
“Do i need to remind you of our current position?”  
  
It was quiet for a while as John digested the new information. Neither of them moved.  
  
Suddenly, John cleared his throat and Sherlock looked at him.  
  
“If it’s just... snuggling... I guess I don’t mind. I mean, we may need to do without quite so many blankets, but I have been sleeping more soundly with you in the bed these past few weeks--”  
  
“Studies have shown that most people experience longer REM cycles with a partner sharing their bed,” Sherlock supplied helpfully.  
  
“Right. Sorry. What I'm trying to say is that we can sleep like this for as long as you’d like. “  
  
“Thank you, John.”  
  
Sherlock scooted back until his back was flush with John’s chest. John wrapped one arm protectively around Sherlock.  
  
“How’s this?” John asked, a little self-consciously.  
  
“Quite comfortable.” Replied Sherlock and John relaxed.  
  
As they drifted off to sleep, only Sherlock noticed that their breathing had synchronized.   



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's snuggling happens outside the bedroom and will lead to PWP in the next chapter ^.^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2... yay!  
> I dunno if this is any good AT ALL, but writing this keeps me busy during math class.  
> Unbeta'd. all mistakes are mine, all the characters arent... ect.

The first few nights were easy. John quite enjoyed the warmth of Sherlock next to him; he liked waking up to the detective curled up against his chest, close enough to feel his warmth. John smiled at the thought, the domesticity of it all suited him well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One evening, as John sat on the couch on his laptop,he felt _someone_ sit down next to him. He ignored it and kept typing. Sherlock scooted closer. John stayed where he was. he felt an arm snake around his waist and a head rest gently on his shoulder. Something about the touch made him sit up straighter, a little flush spreading across his cheeks. John

 

he closed the laptop.

 

“Sherlock.”  
  
“yes?”  
  
“What are you doing?”  


“It’s an experiment.”  


a little red flag went up in John’s head. A _n  experiment._ He recalled Sherlock’s new habit of sleeping with him, cuddling. He thought about Sherlock’s explanation: that it was comfortable. His earlier suspicions about Sherlocks actions crept back into his consciousness, and he stared at Sherlock, trying to puzzle it out. Sherlock’s face was open-- as open as it could be, anyway, and John’s stomach did a little backflip at the unfamiliar, unguarded expression. He turned back to his laptop, willing himself not to think about it’s meaning.  
  
“John. Dlose the laptop.”  
  
John closed the laptop. Sherlock cuddled a little closer, his arm got a little tighter around John’s waist. John shuddered. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him like this and he blushed as he realized the effects. B.  
  
“Now put it on the coffee table”  
  
There was no way he’d do that. He had already changed into his pajamas and the bottoms left nothing to the imagination.  Revealing his lap would undoubtedly cause some awkwardness between the two men. Hor now, he’d try to wait it out.  
  
“Why?” Asked John, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his tone.  
  
“Part of the experiment.”  
  
Suddenly it was all too much: The touching, the bizarre arousal, and the experiment Sherlock was preforming oh him, John couldn’t take it.  


 

“Sherlock. Stop. Just stop. I’m fine with you wanting to sleep together if it’s comfortable for your. I enjoyed it, even. Cut if this is all part of some experiment, if you’ve been watching me sleep--or something-- and jotting down notes in a secret notebook somewhere, I can’t do it.”  
  
Sherlock  reached for the laptop. John stood, turned, and made his way across the room before he was exposed.   
  
“It needs to stop,” he said, before marching up the stairs to his room. Ie shut the door behind him and sat on his bed. He relieved himself begrudgingly, reminding himself to get a girlfriend as he reached for the tissues. Once cleaned off, he crawled into bed and waited. Waited to see if Sherlock would come.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
By 1:15, Sherlock’s usual betdime past, Sherlock still hadn’t shown up. John sighed and tried to sleep.  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
At 3 AM, John was still awake when his door cracked open.  
  
“John?” Sherlock whispered.  
  
John pretended to be asleep and listened carefully as Sherlock crawled into bed behind him, scooting up against his back.  
  
“I’m sorry, John. I can’t sleep without you.” Then something soft and very warm pressed against his neck, just behind his ear. John’s heart stopped. It felt like a... Kiss? Had Sherlock just _kissed_ him? He lay awake for a long time, running the scene over and over in his head. A warm flush spread across his face, all the way up to his ears. New thoughts about Sherlock’s motivation to share a bed began to form and, John hated to admit, reflected themselfves in his rapidly tightening pajama bottoms. He shifted a little to keep his arousal out of Sherlock’s line of sight, (were the man to wake) and willed himself to sleep.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
In the morning, John observed Sherlock carefully, looking for any signs that he hadn’t imagined last night’s events. Sherlock gave nothing away. John made tea and toast and settled himself on the sofa to eat when suddenly Sherlock was next to him again. His knees were drawn to his chest, hands steepled, and his shoulder brushing against John’s. John turned to him.  
  
“Sherlo--”  


“You let me in, John” Sherlock stated thoughtfully.  


“I-- what?”  
  
“Last night. Fven though you thought I might  be using you for an experiment, you let me back in your bed. Why?”  


John sputtered, “I didn’t _let you_ anything. I was asleep.”  
  
“Wrong.”  
  
“What?!”  


“Wrong. John, WRONG. You were awake.”  


“How--”  
  
“How can I know that?” Sherlock finished. Then he dove into recollection of his deductions, eyes closed, “You were completely to still: your eyelids were’t twitching, your fist was clenched on your pillow. When I laid next to you, you didn’t turn toward the source of warmth (myself): a behavior I’ve observed you exhibiting reliably in your unconscious state. You flushed when I kissed your neck, and you know what else, John? I could have ignored everything and STILL have known you were faking from just this: You were doing that thing where you try to control your breathing-- silence it, most likely. I know your breath John, and it happens to be quite loud when you are truly asleep.”

John was speechless.   
  
“You consciously let me back in,” Sherlock concluded, “Why?”  
  
John sighed. He wasn’t sure if he knew the answer either.  
  
“Maybe I just enjoy the company when I sleep. You said yourself that people sleep better with company. ”  
  
“Stop lying, John. Eo you fail to remember your physical reaction to my touch? The couch yesterday, and in bed last night: You were aroused. You don’t just  ‘enjoy’ sleeping with me, you _crave_ it _. And you crave me.”_  
  
John groaned and tried to get up, but shelock grabbed hold of his shirt. Their eyes me.  
  
“Tell. Me.” Sherlock’s stare relentless, and John gave in. He turned, gripped the back of the couch, one hand on each side of Sherlock’s head, caging him in.  
  
Then he leaned forward.   



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the porn begins.   
> Feedback is appreciated!

Sherlock held completely still as John closed the space between them, observed as John closed his eyes, and followed suit shortly after.

 

John’s lips were soft, plumper than he had expected, and tasted of John’s favorite black tea. Sherlock found himself leaning into it, tilting his head tentatively as he searched for _more._

 

John groaned. It wasn’t just an _ohgodpleasemore_ groan, but an intoxicating mix of desire, decision, and utter defeat. Sherlock stiffened at the sound before shifting his weight and appreciating when John moved with him, placing one knee on the couch to the left of Sherlock’s thigh. The broke the kiss for only a moment to check in with each other, and they reached a silent agreement: _Keep kissing me. We’ll talk about it later. The silence is unbearable so don’t stop._

 

This time Sherlock closed the distance, darting his tongue out a little bit to lick at John’s lips. He wanted to taste more.   
  
John huffed a little then gave Sherlock what he wanted, parting his lips slightly and shuddering as Sherlock’s small, clever tongue darted inside.   
  
Sherlock reached a hand up to hold John’s jaw, to angle his head as he explored that mouth, and he loved it _\--_ the softness, the little squeaks and groans John emitted, _the control Sherlock had over him._

 

When John checked, he found that Sherlock’s eyes were open, and an unexpected rush of embarrassment flew through him. Sherlock didn’t seem to mind, though. He _Hm_ ’d and tilted his head the opposite way, kissing John deeper, continuing to catalogue every corner of John’s sweet mouth.   
  
Then he let John do the same to him.  
  
John, braver by the minute, applied himself eagerly to his task, hopping his other leg up onto the couch to straddle Sherlock.   
  
Sherlock hummed his approval at the closer proximity and the slight friction on his growing member, a new sensation he was happy to get used to.   
  
John’s tongue was not  the investigative instrument that Sherlock’s was, but a curious, gentle extension of himself. It slid easily in and out of Sherlock’s mouth, brushing against his tongue and causing Sherlock’s grip on the back of John’s jumper to steadily tighten. He didn’t seem quite so interested in the inside of Sherlock’s mouth, but rather in communication. 

 

He ran his tongue gently against Sherlock’s bottom lip before pressing a quick, soft kiss to the plump flesh, only to return and hold it tenderly in his mouth, sucking softly. He repeated the process with Sherlock’s top lip, smiling a little as he gave that lovely cupid’s bow a little extra attention. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to realize what to do next. He felt clever and smug as, while John ravished his top lip, he mirrored the action on John’s bottom lip. John brought his hand up into Sherlock’s hair, stroking gently to encourage him.   
  
They snogged comfortably this way for a while, adding little nips and extra flicks of the tongue as they went. Suddenly, they both realized that they had been grinding their hips into each other for several minutes, and pulled apart, panting softly. John stared down, unsure of what had just happened-- what was still happening.   
  
John was on Sherlock’s lap, one hand tangled in his curls. Sherlock had both arms wrapped around him, with each fist clutching a handful of John’s jumper over either shoulder blade as he rolled his hips.  John sat back slightly, trying to digest the view.   
  
“Sherlock?” He managed,  
  
“Yes, John?” Sherlock panted out.   
  
“Is this...” He gestured vaguely, “is this okay? I mean.. Okay with you? I dont--” He lost his train of thought and just looked pleadingly at Sherlock, who, despite his mussed hair and heavy breathing, somehow seemed more capable of coherent speech.   
  
“It’s new. It’s strange and you’re uncomfortable. But... Judging from your unconscious rutting...you enjoy it.”  
  
“And judging from _yours_?”  
  
“I’m not sure yet. But I have several hypotheses, of course.”  
  
John bit his lip. It was exactly as he’d thought. This _was_ an experiment. But instead of dread, instead of feeling used, he felt... affection? ...curiosity?.... turned on?  He gave up trying to guess.   
  
“Care to test it?”  
  
Sherlock smiled at the suggestion like the cat that got the cream, and became almost comedically articulate.  
  
“Your room or mine? Or we could just stay on the couch. The couch would become messy. Your bedroom, while it is all the way upstairs, is equipped with lubricant and condoms in the bedside table should we be needing them,” John gave him a funny look, “Oh, shush, John. I know every corner of this flat and yes even the location of your pornography stash. Now, my bedroom is closer and has clean sheets, however, as I have not been previously sexually active, i have no supplies for these sorts of activities.”  
  
John’s mouth dropped open. T _hese sorts of activities?_ He cut into sherlock’s rant __  
“ --Sherlock. You’ve never had sex with a man before, yes?”  
“ I’ve never had sex before, John.”  
“ Then... Do you even know how it works?”  
“ Vaguely. I’ve had to do some research on the topic for cases. ”

 

John’s stomach did a backflip. Here was Sherlock, a complete virgin, prepared to let him choose the room in which they have sex. Rubbish.  
  
“Your room.”  
  
“Mine? Did you not hear what I just said? I’m not equipped for this.”  
  
“We’re not having sex tonight, Sherlock.”  
  
Sherlock was very confused. He reassessed the situation: They were both hard, John had the necessary knowledge and experience to guide him through it, there was lubricant upstairs, and they had just snogged for a half hour....  
  
“Stop. Thinking.” John sighed and grabbed Sherlock’s arm, pulling him across the flat into the bedroom. He wasted no time in ridding them both of their trousers and pinning Sherlock to the bed, biting at his ears and neck as he ground their erections together through their pants.   
  
“John...mn... please....get on with it.”  
  
John stared down at his flatmate. His hair was strewn across the pillow beautifully, and he could see the pulse in the translucent skin of his neck. He looked down at where Sherlock’s erection strained against soft, grey cotton, and he gave in. _  
_

John scooted downward until he reached Sherlock’s jutting hardness, which he mouthed at gently through Sherlock’s pants, eliciting a gasp.  
  
“John, that’s...”  
  
John stopped listening. He couldn’t hear Sherlock anyway over the pounding in his ears as he pulled the elastic carefully away to expose Sherlock’s cock. It was long and slender, with a delicate curve and a slight pink flush. The black curls at the base of it were a startling contrast to Sherlock’s white skin, and John nuzzled into it, smelling Sherlock and _loving_ it. It was oddly beautiful, and a small pearl of precum had formed at the tip. John swiped it off with his tongue and savored the salty taste and the little gasp from Sherlock that followed.   
  
Sherlock arched up. “John. I need you to touch me.”  
  
John did. He spent a little time playing with the foreskin and sucking gently at the tip and neatly shaven balls, never giving him _quite enough_. John waited patiently until Sherlock was bucking and writhing, desperate for more friction before he made his move.   
  
He grabbed Sherlock’s pants and yanked them all the way off, then spread his legs and bent his knees until his feet were flat on the bed and he was completely exposed. 

 

Sherlock shivered.   


“John-- wait... We can’t--”  


“I’m not going to fuck you, Sherlock,” John muttered. And Sherlock stared wide-eyed as John sucked his index finger, beginning to understand.   
  
Bringing the now wet finger from his mouth, John caressed Sherlock’s leg reassuringly.   
“Relax. I won’t hurt you, Sherlock.” His eyes were softer now, and Sherlock nodded his consent.   
  
John placed a little kiss on Sherlock’s thigh as he pressed slowly inside with his finger. He could feel Sherlock flexing and relaxing as he tried to adjust. With his other hand, he   
began to stroke Sherlock‘s cock.   
  
The view was delicious. Sherlock’s tight little pink hole clutched so welcomingly at his finger, and he mewled needily as he was stroked. John removed his finger, applied more saliva, and re-inserted it, this time thrusting gently in and out. He could feel every twitch of muscle as Sherlock loosened for him, still making little gasps and whines at the sensation, his hands fisted in the covers.  
  
John released Sherlock’s cock, and began to run that hand easily over his flatmate’s body, soothing. His other hand was busy petting Sherlock’s velvety insides, thrusting shallowly in and out as that tight ring of muscle clenched down, fluttering when John pulled all the way out and twitching as he added a second finger. Sherlock’s head thrashed back and forth as John pushed in slowly.   
  
“John. John. Your fingers... Oh god.... It’s strange.. nnn... tight...”  
  
With the two fingers, John twisted his hand, widening the passage in all directions and feeling Sherlock’s warm, slippery flesh shift against him. Carefully, John pushed them in as far as they would go, palm up, and crooked his fingers, applying pressure to the small bump that was there.  
  
“AH! John! WHAT IS THAT? AHHNN!”  
  
“That’s your prostate.”  
  
He repeated the action, with a similar result. Sherlock thrashed around uncontrollably in the sheets, and John held his hips down with his free hand, leaning forward.   
  
Sherlock froze as he felt something warm and soft brush his anus. He looked down. John swiped his tongue across the flesh again, right where it was stretched around his finger, which he began moving in little circles, pressing against that small bundle of nerves deep within him.   
  
“John---nnnnnnn.....” Sherlock couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could only lay there as John’s talented tongue circled his entrance and his adept fingers massaged his prostate. His cock strained upward, dripping precum onto his belly, almost purple with need.   
  
John looked up, lined up a third finger, and as he pushed in, took Sherlock’s entire length into his mouth and _sucked_.   
  
Sherlock came undone. His hips bucked helplessly into John’s mouth, forcing his prostate against John’s three fingers over and over as he cried out. John took it all, but held Sherlock’s spend in his mouth, saving it. When Sherlock was done cumming, oversensitive to the point of pain, John pulled off and out. He scooted upwards, and dripped the cum out onto Sherlock’s belly.   
  
He stood, took off his (red) pants, and got back onto the bed, onto Sherlock, right into the pool of cum on his belly and began to rut.   
  
“John?” Sherlock spoke when he came to.  
“Shlockk...lock... Sherlockkk ahh....” John panted as he ground his erection against Sherlock’s soft, cum-covered stomach.   
  
Sherlock reached a hand down and lightly caressed John’s back. It didn’t take long for John. He was quickly overcome by the sensation of Sherlock’s soft skin sliding under him, Sherlock’s musky scent, the taste of his cum still on John’s tongue, Sherlock’s name on his lips as he came hard, watching, absorbed as his spend mixed with Sherlock’s. Then he collapsed on the taller man, all soft muscle and cum-covered affection.   
  
_The sheets will need to be changed,_ thought Sherlock. But right now, he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around John and kissed his ear happily as they breathed together.   
  
  
  
  



End file.
